


The Tyger and the Demon Killer

by Darke_Eco_Freak



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Affection, Body Worship, Cunnilingus, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Post-Canon, Riding, Tattoos, V's poetry kink, Woman on Top, minor demon gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:55:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25251214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darke_Eco_Freak/pseuds/Darke_Eco_Freak
Summary: After the Qliphoth (and Dante taking off for Hell) Nico figures Kyrie deserves some alone time with lover boy, poor girl deserves it after all that heartache. So, she bundles off the kiddies and stocks out the van with a mobile forge, three demons, and one V to give the two lovebirds a weekend off. And if Nico happens to get some loving of her own on the road then good, she deserves some old fashioned R&R too. V emphatically agrees.
Relationships: Nico/V (Devil May Cry)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 44





	The Tyger and the Demon Killer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ariebearz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ariebearz/gifts).



She’s a smart girl, sharpest knife in the drawer, knows her stuff and her way around a twelve gauge.

“Nicoletta, you’re damn near one of the smartest women I ever had the pleasure of knowing,” was what Rock used to tell her after she figured out some new demon doodad or the other.

Rock always treated her like a genius, cause she was one, and Nico’s got her pride, and she’s stubborn, but she ain’t stubborn enough to pretend she knows  _ anything _ about the Spardas. They’re a whole other barrel of cats, angry cats, the kind that’d claw the shit outta you first ask questions never.

When she went looking for, and finding, Nero off in Fortuna, Nico’s not sure what she expected. A hardass religious type maybe? Old guy with some demon in him probably. Not some punk ass, definitely-related-to-Sparda kid with a ego bigger’n his head and a heart even bigger’n that. But, cuz the world’s funny like that, a punk kid’s exactly what Nico found on that backwards, backwater island.

And a punk kid wilder’n a alley cat is what worms his way into her heart. Somehow. Nico ain’t sure about it, won’t question too much about it. She meets Nero and she likes him enough to hang around, that’s all and that’s it.

Except maybe not all of it? Cuz there’s the infamous Dante who’s using  **_her_ ** Faust down in Hell, and Nero’s stubborn daddy, and…V.

“C’mon, a little fresh air ain’t gonna hurt none,” Nico wheedles and bullies and gets V out of the house. Because the kids are already over at a friend’s and the van’s already stocked, and V’s the last piece of the puzzle that makes up Kyrie’s “ _Get Laid_ ” jigsaw. Poor girl’s been blueballed for a month now, what with all the demons prowling around, and Nero neglecting her.

Well not today, no siree. Not when Nicoletta Abigail Goldstein’s on the job and willing to pull out all the stops.

“This was supposed to be our day off too,” V points out, as he climbs into the passenger seat without any kinda complaint. Good boy, knows what’s good.

“I relax better behind the wheel,” she shrugs and pulls out the driveway. A whole weekend alone, it’s exactly what Nero and Kyrie need, time to catch up and get frisky. And, if Nico just so happened to leave behind an upgrade to Sweet Surrender, then oh no, hope it’s there when she gets back. Fingers crossed it ain’t though.

“And  **_I_ ** relax better in air conditioning,” V’s ole bwok bwok chicken grumbles, all ruffled feathers and delicate sensibilities. 

Nico rolls her eyes, V smiles real wry, and they both hold on tight while she hits a dead stop and sends the chickie crashing into the back of the van.

-0-0-0-

There’s perks to living in a van half the time, always new sights to see and new folks to meet. There’s a real sense of independence, ain’t shackled down to nowhere and no one, ‘s maybe not how Nico wants to finish up at the end but it's a pretty good middle.

There’s cons to living on the road too, though. No space to really relax at night, cept lounging with the seat reclined all back. Nowhere to catch a good movie, other’n whatever she can burn on a record and stick in the back. And no good place to hide something when the only other person around ain’t out smushing demons to paste.

V, unlike Nero, doesn’t stay out all hours of the day ‘n night hunting down dens and what not. V, like a sensible human being, comes back to the van for a wash and a bite after he takes care of the small fry, and reports on where the bigger fish might be lurking. 

Nico appreciates it, him coming back to the van, but not this time, not right now. Cuz she’s nearly finished and almost there and thought the few places far enough from Fortuna to warrant a weekend trip would have more to do. They do not. So, instead of the leisurely hours of tweaking and tweeing while V’s off on business, Nico has half hours at a time, maybe forty-five minutes at a most.

Just long enough to add another edge here, sharpen a blade there, carve the handle down a bit and up a bit and left a lil’ more. Just long enough to really get into the swing of her work before V’s trouncing on back and she’s scrambling into the front seat. Cuz she weren’t doing nothing, no siree, just her here listening to some tunes and making a time of it.

At least, at the very least, he don’t suspect nothing. She knows he doesn’t cause every time V gets back, dripping demon blood n’ squelching demon guts, he heads straight to the shower. He doesn’t stop and cock his head like a fussy little dog, or cross his skinny arms and stare her down like a hawk until she tells him what’s what.

_ What  _ just so happens to be a prototype she’s just itching to give him but not yet, gotta add some refinement first. V ain’t Nero, he’s got class and style, a lil tacky sure but elegant tacky. Gotta get the transitions down butter smooth before she goes around handing out demon toys. She’s got a reputation after all.

She gets just the chance late Saturday evening, after lunch at a greasy diner and directions from a smirking waitress. Two left turns and straight a bit then a right, big abandoned house, can’t miss it. Nico nearly does of course, cause the big old house is a teeny lil shack half sunk down in some muck, but it’s there at least. And so’s the demons of course.

V goes, with a wave and a scrunched nose at the guck he’s gonna be sludging through, and Griffon goes with a wail and a sigh. Poor put out chickie, Nico’ll make sure to play him a sad tune on the world’s tiniest jukebox. 

Them going gives her a chance though, to finally add those little touches she’s been gnawing over. Gets out her tools, locks up the van, and sits flat out on the floor behind her table with the pretty little thing pinched up between her legs. Gets a good grip on it for the fine work she’ll do on the handle, careful little slides of a sharp tip grinder, keep it smooth and neat.

The metal is demon treated, no need to fire up a forge to get that sizzling sweet temper, and no scaling either. Working demon metal’s almost worth the hassle of dulling her good bits on “ _organic_ ” material and the results are damn satisfying. 

This one is some of her finest work next to Faust itself. Light in her hands, perfectly measured and weighted for comfort and combat. She hops up, bits still plugged in and workstation a whole mess, Nico pops up and does a few practise swings in the cramped van back. And she knocks over a couple tins, whacks a shelf sure, but it’s worth it. 

“Hoowee! Now this is a work of art!” she hollers, loud enough for any somebody to hear but who cares about them? Nicoletta Goldstein’s gone and done the impossible yet again, and it ain’t even dinner time yet.

The cane’s a streak of silver, aerodynamic like nobody’s business, and all the fancy filigree she etched in don’t look half bad. More flowery than she prefers but this one ain’t about her, this is a special case for a special customer. A thank you for a man she didn’t think she’d ever care about, but people can surprise she supposes.

She’s just about to test out the other side of her creation when something smacks into the door. A big ole thunk into the side of the van, knocks more shit off her shelves and has her reaching for a gun.

“Hey open up!” Griffon squacks, and Nico finishes that grab for her gun. Just in case she’s gotta threaten a bird. The cane she hides behind her back, just out of sight.

“Back already boys?” she asks with a satisfied smile, throwing open the panel door and...ew.

Griffon’s fine, blue lightning and not at all frightening, on the sign, but V though. Nico sucks her teeth as she takes in the sad sight. There’s swamp guck plastered up to his hips and his coat’s sluicing water like a broken faucet, poor fella looks waterlogged and disgusted. Which, no, she ain’t letting him in the van like that.

“The swamp’s haunted,” V...says? 

The “What?” that pops out bypasses her brain completely, just bloop, straight out her mouth. 

“The swamp is haunted, by nuckelavee,” V grumbles, shaking his head like a bad tempered pooch. At least he splats Griffon instead of her, or the van.

But he’s still soaking, still pissed, and still doesn’t have a way to kill the Nucks. And to add, what the hell’re Nucks doing way out here anyway? Ain’t been a battlefield round here in the last fifty years least and that’s where those slinky bastards belong but, beggars and choosers and all that.

“Well shoot, I was saving this for later but why dont’chu try’er out?” Nico offers, whipping out the cane with a fancy little reveal and offs it to him. Scottfree with no charge upfront cause V’s worth it. He...well he’s just a fine fella. Fine spoken and smart, knows more about demons than she’d shake a stick at, all kinds of shrewd and plenty of fun to talk with. 

He’s got this way about him that’s just easy to be around, and Nicoletta’s never been ungrateful. Rock grew her up polite, made sure she knew when to use her manners and when to chuck ‘em in the mud. This is one of the rare, rare times Nico wants to make a good impression, pay back some of the kindness V’s showed her, and the parts he brought her free of charge.

“You...was this crafted with me in mind, Nicoletta?” V drawls, all sassy sanguine, and no she does not blush. She’s got better control of herself than that, but she does grin and bite her tongue on a stutter, that’s a quick fire tell.

But, something about the way V smiles at her, lazy and catlike, and the way his fingers brush the length of her hand; wrist to knuckles, along the fingers, finally to the cane. Well something about that tells her he’s already got her clocked, which is just another thing to appreciate about him. He’s the one Sparda boy that can read a room, most of the time. 

“Sure was, thought I’d try something a lil stylish,” she laughs, and he, him, V, smiles at her. Really smiles at her, not a smirk or a quirk or something a lil too sharp. V smiles at her soft and a touch fragile and wow, she’s never ah, never seen him look that vulnerable before.

Like she gave him more’n just a weapon, not that any of her weapons are anything to sneeze at but he smiles like it’s more than’n  _ just  _ that. And it makes her feel...well it makes her feel alright, mushy n’ gushy and maybe just a little warm?

“Well? What’re we talking around for? Let’s see that baby in action!” she hollers, and files that warm feeling away for later. Drops it into a neat box and tucks it away in the back of her head, cuz now’s demon hunting time. 

And just to emphasize, she hops down and lets the van slam shut behind her. She’s got the keys in her apron and everything valuable’s locked away under her travel forge. ‘Sides, there ain’t nobody else this far outta town this late in the day, it’ll be fine.

“You’re coming with? Ohohoho this I gotta see!” Griffon squawks and launches his fat, feathered butt in the air with a spin and a dip and takes off for the house proper. 

V watches him go like a mother with a too rambunctious picknee that she just ain’t got the energy to keep up with. Nico understands, she feels the same way about Nero most times, must be all the demon blood pumpin’ em up all the time. 

Her and V head over slower, moseying along at a stroll instead of a gallop, but not too close cause V’s still covered in guck. Gives her some space to take a gander at him, make sure he’s not bleeding nowhere and he ain’t limping too bad. Cause he still does that, even after coming back as a...construct or whatever Trish’d called it.

V’s still human, very much human, and he still ain’t got the best health, and yeah maybe she worries. Fight her, alright? She cares about her demon hunting pals and V doesn’t got the benefit of demon blood patching him up when a nasty gets him.

Nico doesn’t see any of that though, no limp, no blood, just plenty of wet leather and sloshing boots. Oh, and V running his fingers along the handle of her cane when he thinks she ain’t looking. His is hooked through his jacket, tucked away all safe, and hers is swinging in step with him, perfect hip height too. 

Every other step clinks, metal on stone, then it thumps, metal on dirt, and V’s clever fingers slide along the filigree detailing she worked so hard on. Tracing the swirling patterns that’re maybe just perfect copies of his contract tattoos. Sure Nero called her fucking wierd for staring at V so much but she didn’t think Mr Arm-There-Only-Sometimes had any room to talk about weird. 

If she wanted to stare at V, then she’d damn well do it. If she’s staring now, then she’s doing it discrete enough that he doesn’t seem to mind. Or, more likely, he just don’t give a shit. He lets her get her eyefulls and keeps playing with the cane as they start schlucking through the water and weeds.

The broke down, husked out shack looms all horror movie-esque and Griffon cackles from his perch like the rat with wings he is. Tryna scare her? Not a chance chickadee. 

“Please wait here,” V says though, holding out an arm that she does not let touch her. There’s a piece of green hanging off his sleeve for Christ’s sake, who knows what kinda poison plant’s hanging around in this flooded out hole?

“Griffon, stay with her,” V orders and Nico doesn’t know whether she wants to laugh, because anything irritating that irritation is good in her book, or does she wanna cuss? Cause he’s leaving her behind with  _ Griffon _ , and he’s leaving her  _ behind _ ? 

What kinda cockamamy scheme’s he got cooking in that pretty ole head of his?

“Now wait just a second, I came out here to see my beauty in action, I ain’t waiting back with baby bird!” she yells, flinging a hand, pointing hard, making sure he gets the picture.

She ain’t no damsel in distress, she’s got her own weapons on her and she can more’n take care of herself. Ain’t no battle scavenging Nuck gonna get the best of  _ Nicoletta Goldstein _ . 

She’s rearing and ready to fight him down on it too, except, V gives her another look that’s too genuine and open. He looks at her like he can’t bear to see her get smacked around, by accident even, like she...matters to him. More’n just a weapon smith too, like they’re--

“Aw c’mon Shakespeare! You ain’t gonna leave me behind with her, are ya? Who’s gonna watch your back?” Griffon complains and whines and swoops down to take up the defensive a foot in front and to the left of her. Cause no matter how much of a pain in the ass he is, Nico’s never seen Griffon disobey an order from V, nothing so direct at least.

She’s seen the rat with wings fuck around and fuck off plenty but never when V’s ordering him. Maybe it’s the contract magic, maybe’s just how they be, Nico doesn’t know and she’s not overly keen on finding out. But Griffon stays, and she stays with him, as V sloshes his way around a tree and further off where they can still see so that’s something at least. 

It’s unusually quiet out in the mini-swamp, no buggies screaming, no birdies cheeping, nothing but the water and them. Part of her’s running the numbers, drawing up hypotheses; was it like this before the demons or after? Did the demons get drawn here or did they make a bad thing worse? Who lived in the old shack and what’d they do to bring Nucks of all things to ‘em?

That’s part of her, the scientist always observing, always keeping one eye on the variables. The rest of her is watching V, the smooth wade, the swing of his cane arm even though he’s holding it above water. He’s all coiled elegance waiting out there, baiting the demons to come git.

Nico doesn’t see where it comes from, where one second nothing, two seconds a fuck off big horse’s rearing up on two legs over V. Big, bigger than a draught horse, nearly matching a Geryon, the Nuck rears and V moves. Cane up, silver slash in the draining light, and Nico whoops as the demon explodes. 

All guts, all gore, all nasty viscera and satisfaction. Can’t say what’s louder, her yelling or the Nuck screeching, human body flailing as the horse half goes first. V stands there, keeps standing there, like nothing never happened. Leaning to one side, head cocked and cane held, looking so poised and put together.

Nico...she’s seen her fair share of demon wrangling. She’s watched Nero’s chaotic ass spin and punch his way through a fight, getting hit and hitting back harder. She caught an eyeful of Dante bouncing around like a coked out ferret, brushing off hits, running tricks,  _ playing  _ with his food. Lady’s all fire power and gymnastics, planting herself and setting off barrages, flipping around and dodging.

She’s heard about Vergil, short and sharp, never moving more than he had to or something like that. And she knows who V is, or least, where he came from, but V’s nothing like none of them. He’s not heavy hitting and wiles, he’s not firepower or technique, he’s well, he’s something else.

He’s standing there, middling of the swamp, waiting for the whole herd to come to him. Because they’re dumb and he’s smart and maybe Nico’s got a thing for smart. Or maybe she’s just got hankering for V, pretty boy with a sick style and some smarts? Well if that ain’t just what momma ordered. 

One Nuck schlops out of the water with a sword, two canter through the trees with spears, and V lets them come. Keeping still, so still, Nico holds her breath watching him. The Nucks circle, tighter and tighter, whinnying between themselves, shouting non-english words in voices that scrape down her spine. 

And V stands there. And he stands there. And he stands there. 

As a sword comes swinging, as a spear goes thrusting, and hooves pound the air heaving. They’re all smashing-crashing down on that one spot, and V--

“Yeah Shakespeare!” Griffon crows and Nico stares because wow.

The sword and spear smack into each other with a nasty clang and the hooves pitch water sky high when they hit. Hit the water that is, cause V ain’t there no more, no sir. V’s up on one of them’s back... _ and _ he’s slashing at another one’s knees?

What the--oh! The V up on the Nuck’s back stabs through it, clean and slick, and backflips away before the body can blow. The V down under the hooves is exploding into spikes and spines, Shadow taking her master’s form for a on the fly switch out. Well damn, if that ain’t how it’s done.

So that’s three down, one more bucking bronco to break.

“Juice ‘er up!” Nico yells, as V lands and Shadow returns and the last Nuck rounds on them. Ooh, big boy’s pissed, shrieking those demon words like it don’t know anything else. What kinda half-bit bottom feeder? The thing made it all the way out of hell and couldn’t even be bothered to paint on some local colour?

V, unlike Nero, doesn’t need anymore prompting. He doesn’t turn to nod at her but he does hit the cane with a charge of demon juice. The kinda power she’s only touched once or twice, scrapping down a particularly powerful demon, watching Nero really let loose. 

V calls up demon magic like it’s  _ nothing _ , and the cane transforms. Segments unlocking, blades unsheathing, Nicoletta breathes one slow, hot breath when V does the very first test crack with it. The bladed whip cuts through the air and snaps louder’n a banshee at the end, throwing up another gout of water when it lands. 

She can barely take her eyes off the whip, she’s so mesmerised by how well it works, but somehow she manages, and somehow she sees. V of course, the way his mouth’s hanging just the slightest bit open, awed and stunned and all kinds of appreciative. Nico almost wishes he’d look at her like that, she’s used to folks giving her weapons plenty of love, as they should, but it’s been a while since she’s had some for herself.

And--

“Quite staring and start using!” Griffon yells, and Nico snaps back to the fight that’s still happening. The Nuck’s got it’s spear hefted in a javelin hold and lets fly with a scream, and V bats it out the sky with barely a blink. The cane snaps out, the whip cracks loud, and the spear splashes down without any fanfare. 

Nah, all the fare’s saved for the Nuck exploding, bigger’n the other ones, black blood just splurting everywhere. Nico’s quick enough to dodge a stray splash, Griffon ain’t. 

“Ack! See if I look out for  _ you  _ anymore!” Griffon yells, kicking up his regular fuss, and Nico cackles. She cackles cause she just loves seeing that bird get what’s coming to him, and there ain’t nothing better than a successful field test. Even V’s grinning, and Shadow’s leaning against his legs, looking pretty happy. 

All in all, she’d say this job was worth the effort of finding the place and--

“Look out!” the warning’s barely out her mouth before Shadow’s blocking hooves, and V’s skewering the real last Nuck through the horse chest. And getting completely washed in blood.

Lord.

“You ain’t getting back in the van like that!” she shouts, and gives Griffon a friendly shove into the water to stop his kyah-kyah-kyahing. 

* * *

When he comes back, borne through blood and water, V doesn’t know what the hell is going on. He and Urizen were one again, Vergil was whole and in Hell, and still there despite his own impossible existence. V had questioned it all of a minute before Shadow ambled her way into his lap and licked the entire length of his face. 

Then Griffon had appeared, with a letter tied to his leg and written in dried blood.

_ To the part of myself that cares for humanity, take care of my son. ~Vergil de Sparda _

_ ps: tell Lady ill pay her back for rent -D.  _

And that had been the extent of his explanation. Good enough for him, good enough for Nero, and good enough for Lady to keep the lights on at Devil May Cry. As V understood it, she was going to charge Dante interest on the utilities and rent she’d paid and force him even further into her debt.

Somehow V doens’t very much care about that, he has a whole life he never dared to dream of. He can fight without falling over and exist as nobody but himself, it is an interesting experience. And he gets to reunite with Nero, and apologise for keeping his identity a secret in the time they spent together.

He gets to meet Kyrie, and be forced to eat his own bodyweight in her immaculate home cooking. And, the most strangely welcome of all, he gets the chance to speak with Nicoletta Goldstein again. The curious, impossible human that had charged headfirst into a demon fracas simply for the thrill of it. To help a friend.

That kind of loyalty, that sort of care, it was...endearing, and awe inspiring, and something he dearly wanted to share in.

And that is how his friendship with Nicoletta starts, as him wanting just one more thing. Her loyalty and friendship, that’s all he wants, but he gets so much more. 

He gets her sharp wit, scathing and teasing in equal measure. He gets her analytical mind, gets to sit by and watch her work as she picks apart demon magic with human steel and propane fueled fire. He gets to  _ know  _ her, and her passion for weapons. Her and her love of art, the sweet simplicity of it; she loves art because it makes an impression, and that’s really all she wants.

She wants to build up her own legacy, leave a mark on a world that’s so eager to move onto the next biggest, next brightest. Nicoletta Abigail Goldstein wants to be  _ remembered  _ and that is, well maybe that is when he starts to fall the slightest bit in love with her. 

Because she understands, oh does she understand. Despite not having a drop of demon blood or any of their feuds, she understands his dearest wish to simply be remembered. 

There’s more of course, that wit, that charm, that care and consideration for her friends, but that’s where it starts. And it reaches something of a peak when she presents him with a weapon of her own mark and make. 

A cane, made of sleek silver and carved intricately, a cane that does not have a trigger or a handle to rev or a rocket hidden in the length. She makes him something that matches him so well that he...he doesn’t know what to say. Thank you is too small for what he feels when he takes it in hand, and finds it’s perfectly his height, that it supports him comfortably.

Then he finds the special features, a bladed whip that cuts like lightning, cracks like thunder, oh he does enjoy that. And an explosive kick with none of the painful kick _ back _ he’s come to expect from her signature firearms. She...Nicoletta altered her signature style for him, for his comfort and safety and he…he cannot stop thinking about that.

As they trudge back to the van, that she does let him into. As she shoves him straight into the tiny shower with two towels, a half bottle of shampoo, and a new bar of soap. As she tells him not to take too long or use up all the hot water.

He thinks about her, and her newest creation. She hadn’t crowed over it the way she routinely did, hadn’t demanded his immediate reaction to his genius, and wasn’t that another mark of her consideration? That she...thought of him as a friend.

Were they friends? He would like to think so, he very much would. Though, Nero was also her friend, and V knew friendship did not lessen the blow of business. Nicoletta sold her wares at steep prices, well worth them of course, but not something he could afford currently.

But he did so like the cane, all its neatly threaded segments and gnashing blades. Using it felt very nearly like fighting through Shadow, devastating and sharp, impossibly responsive as well. Wielding a weapon like that, well, it had been exhilarating, and he dreaded having to _wait_ to feel that thrill again. 

So he thinks. Through his shower and over Griffon’s phantom heckling (before Shadow sits on him in their shared mindspace) and as he’s drying off. Nicoletta does accept trade, on occasion, fine devil spleens and hacked off horns of hell. Surely there was a component she had her eye on, something he could find and kill in exchange?

“Hope there’s some water,” Nico grumbles as she shoulders past him and into the tiny shower. And he can’t help but notice she’s already stripped down, covered by nothing but her towel. Even her hair’s been tucked away in a bun, and his eyes linger on the curve of her neck, the tattoos speckled down her spine and half-hidden by her hairline.

What must they have felt like? To sit under the needle and exist in a haze of pain separate from your body, something so purposefully done. Which had hurt most? How far did they go?

The door shuts and he blinks, staring at the “ _ occupied _ ” and “ _ come back with a warrant! _ ” stickers peeling at edges. Those are...endearing, impossibly, undoubtedly Nicoletta’s work, and he smiles to himself. There really is so much to appreciate about a woman like Nicoletta Goldstein.

Her smithing, for example, is easily world class. He catches up the cane resting against the counter and hefts it again, not bothering with clothes when loose pants are so much more comfortable. Holding the cane again though, he longs for more enemies to test himself against, to see just how far he can push his limits and cunning.

A threaded cane, a threaded cane made with him specifically in mind, V doesn’t think anyone’s ever done something that nice for him. To spend the time constructing and engraving, and keeping it all a secret from him. He swings the cane and the swoosh is so satisfying, a deadly brush of air that lands solid in his open palm. 

This is a weapon for a human, no doubt about that, but it was made from demon’s blood and bone, truly unique. How could he hope to pay for it? Geryon’s mane? Behemoth armour? Cambion’s blood? All rare enough, but would that suffice? He doesn’t know, and he continues not to know all until Nicoletta comes strolling out of the steamed over shower.

She passes him easily, humming, smiling, and he can’t help staring after her. Nicoletta is far from modest, wears clothes more revealing than his own quite often, but there is something different about this. The bright flush of her skin, warming her cheeks and highlighting the freckles dusted golden brown across her body. 

And the gleam of water not entirely wiped off. He tracks a drip of it rolling down the curve of her shoulder blade, staring-staring at the path it takes before the low slung towel swallows it up. The dip of it is resting mid-back showing off so many more tattoos, flowers and butterflies and stars. There’s a handful of them shooting across her ribs, aiming for a crescent moon on the other side of her spine, and he would like to trace them.

With his fingers? Just to feel her skin, to hear what she would say. 

“So you like the cane, huh?” Nico asks, though it’s less of a question and closer to a taunt. As she turns with her chin jerked up and her eyes squinted in a smile. Without her glasses, he can appreciate the full warmth of her eyes, a brown like Hell never saw, a brown like fire could never touch.

She stands there, arms crossed, head tipped, like the Goddess before the storm, commanding the rage of the world and playing it into a symphony. She’s gorgeous, and V...he licks his lips as he considers. Himself, her, the cane between them and the weekend they have to themselves.

“I do, it is an immaculate piece of work,” he says, after a touch too long but not awkward, how easy it is to exist in her presence, “I couldn’t imagine the cost.”

And she blinks, like she hadn’t even thought about that. Then she blinks, like she’s thinking  _ very  _ hard about it. With a slow up and down of his body, lingering on the jut of his hips, the curve of his lips, before she meets his eyes again.

Brown and warm, brown and furnace hot. Those are eyes he could burn in, that he gladly would, because burning would mean having her attention, and he very much wants Nicoletta Goldstein’s attention. 

“Make me an offer,” Nico breathes, too husky and too low to be misunderstood. Though his breath still sticks and his muscles do lock, sure that he heard wrong, sure that she couldn’t be implying what he believes.

Except that she  **_is_ ** .

Except that she unhooks her towel and lays it out on her counter, except that she’s standing bare before him and something thumps hard and hot in his chest. There’s not much more skin on display now than usual, with her low riding shorts and high riding tops, but it’s almost overwhelming.

The sweep of her tattoos, all sewn into her skin with needle and ink, the curve of her breasts and the flex of her thighs as she climbs onto the counter. Onto the towel with legs spread, not obscenely but the tease of it is nearly worse. 

“Make it worth my while, honey,” she drawls and whatever doubt is gone, burnt to ash under her gaze. 

He goes to her, because he can’t do anything else, but when he gets there, steps into the spread of her thighs and settles himself between them, he stops. To admire the graceful line of her throat and the parting of her lips as he reaches one tentative hand to her cheek. 

“You are exquisite, as lovely as any of your art,” he murmurs, flushing with the sentiment but not ashamed, how could he be embarrassed of emotions like these? Before a woman like this?

No, his cheeks flush with the passion behind those words, a passion he hadn’t even noticed until he was here, finally here. And he gets to feel her smile, under his palm, cheek pressing into his fingers, as she smiles at _him_. Such a genuine smile, as real as her craftsman’s zeal. 

“I’ve never been gifted something so lovely,” he whispers as he dips to kiss her. To kiss her, to taste her, to feel her there and real against him. Whether he’s talking about the cane at all is secondary by the time she loops an arm around his neck and pulls him in closer.

Because Nicoletta is assertive, she knows what she wants, and she is a damningly good kisser. As she tilts his head to an angle that pleases her, as she hooks her legs over his hips, she knows what she want while all  _ he  _ knows is that she is incredible.

The press of her body, her strong arm around his neck, her warm breasts squishing against his bare chest. They feel nice, so nice, soft. Does he moan as she licks into his mouth? He isn’t sure, can’t be sure, he’s too lost in the taste of her; nicotine and cherry. Cigarette smoke and sweet-sweet-sweet. 

They--she breaks--pulls away? Moves away, out of the kiss, and leaves him breathing too hard, dazed.

He blinks, slow and stupid, as she licks her lips, as she breathes. He can  _ feel  _ her, breathing so deep that it pushes their chests together, he can feel her heartbeat just under the skin and that is so...so much. So real, so physical, almost too much. 

There’s nothing that hurts about this, nothing to second guess, only feel, only live in the moment. And, at the moment, he wants to kiss her again, so he does. A more chaste thing brushing her cheek, the bridge of her brow, settling at her temple.

She’s thinking, he can practically hear the flurry of consideration under his lips, so he lets her. More than content to remain right there, holding her and brea--

“Is sweet talking all that mouth’s good for?” Nicoletta taunts and his brain grinds to a halt, a stop, a full freeze.

“Why dont’chu put it to good use?” she suggests, and he flushes. Hot and hard and desperate all at once. Just a few words, just  _ those  _ words from  _ this  _ woman.  **_Oh_ ** . 

“She walks in beauty, like the night, of cloudless climes and starry skies,” he quotes against her temple, sounding nowhere as stunned as he feels. As though every nerve is sparking off the lightning in his blood, as though he’s standing atop an ancient weapon and commanding an Emperor’s power.

Only, he isn’t atop anything, in fact, he’s sliding to his knees, so easy and--

“Wait, here,” and she shoves a pillow at him, “don’t want’chu hurting your knees.”

Griffon, in the quiet place at the back of his head, makes a lewd joke about rug burn and V sighs through his nose as his knees settle on the cushion. His familiars came back with him, whole bodied and full blooded, but still willing to be bound to him. There’s more power between the four of them now, less being expended in simply existing.

V barely feels a dip of energy as he casts Griffon out, manifesting the demon outside of the van and too far away to be prying eyes. Though, to be sure, he sends Shadow too. 

Then, there’s only them, only him on his knees looking up at her from between her thighs, and only her smiling down at him like a goddess on high. She’s shifted so easily, arranged herself with her legs over his shoulders and moved his hands to rest firmly on her hips. Crosses her legs behind his back and pulls in him closer, between her slim thighs to where she’d like him.

And he thinks he should be nervous, as himself, he’s never done anything like this. Nor has Vergil, if his hazy memories prove right, but Nicoletta makes it all so easy. She presses her knee against his head and he kisses her thigh, following a trail of petals. She cants her hips up and he leans into her, eyes fluttering shut as he breathes the clean, musky scent of her. 

“And all that’s best of dark and bright, meet in her aspect and her eyes,” he whispers and moans, entirely too loud, entirely too soon, but the first touch of her to his lips is like the first breath after drowning. After being choked and strangled and forced to rot in that lonely place inside of Vergil.

Nicoletta is the world, she is desire and passion and she is guiding him with a firm hand tangled in his hair. Pressing his face into her pussy so he can pay her back for some of her graciousness. Which he does, happily.

The first kiss is so chaste, too chaste, and V blushes as he realises that. Moaning from just that? He can do better. 

He licks into her, without warning, without preamble. Licks into her softness with the determination that climbed the Qliphoth, and she moans for him. Gentle and breathy, a quiet thing yet, but it’s encouragement, it’s a start. So he moves in, strategically licking along her slit, long, methodical motions that keep to a rhythm she cannot parse.

Because Nicoletta is a woman of action, of now, of not waiting for later, but V can wait. He’s waited and he’s sure he can show her the benefits of slowing down, it’s easy enough when her hands are tangled in his hair and holding him against her. When she’s rocking onto his face, trying to rub off against him, like he’s nothing but a device for her pleasure.

Oh, oh he _likes_ that. Moans into her as he thinks of it, that, and sucks on her clit just as she least expects. 

The half-choking, half-guttural noise that grates its way out of her, from the depths of her, it is. Yes, yes, he likes it. He can’t help himself as he groans, as he picks up his pace for her, to hear that noise again.

It’s easy to let go of her hip, with one hand at least, and slide it down to where his tongue sliding slick and messy along her lips. Maybe he rubs his fingers along his own tongue, maybe he makes more of a mess than he needs to, but he’d prefer more than less. And then there’s no preference as he slides his fingers into her and the jerk of her hips and clench of her thighs and the sound-the sound-the sound ripped out of her throat. 

“Jeezus,” she crows, Nicoletta does, and V sighs, he kisses her clit and sucks on it and pumps his fingers sloppy and purposeful inside of her. To feel the squeeze of her cunt, to have her grind herself against his face. Using him, using him. 

Somewhere and somehow they fall into a pattern, of her grinding and rocking and him sucking and fucking her with his fingers and tongue. A pattern that is sloppy and loud and so alive. Raw and wanting, he’s alive. Desperate and moaning, V is  _ alive _ . 

And as she cums on his fingers, on his tongue, hand gripped tight in his hair and rubbing his face against her cunt, Nicoletta is too. Impossible and undeniable in the way she yowls, the way she shudders, the way she cums-cums-cums. 

He doesn’t move away as she settles back down from her high. V keeps lapping at the gush of slickness between her thighs, slower though, gentler to keep her from the edge of overstimulation. He keeps her warm instead and doesn’t even realise he’s hard until then. 

Until Nico’s legs are falling off his shoulders, sliding down but staying open to show the mess of slick and spit coating smearing her skin. That’s when he comes back to himself, enough to realise his knee is locking up but the cushion helped, and that he is harder than he’s been in his short second life.

He wants to shuffle and shift, find himself a position more comfortable than this, but he’s a touch spellbound. Looking up at Nicoletta, the gleam of sweat off her honey brown skin, the fall of black curls around her face. Her chest is heaving and her breasts move with the motion, nipples peaked and rosy. He would like to kiss them, worship her entire body with his mouth, but he can’t find the words to ask.

Because she’s looking at him with eyes half-lidded and lips half-curled, looking pleased and satisfied and incredibly...fond. There’s a sweetness to her smile, to the expression she’s lavishing on  _ him.  _

Is that an ache in his chest? Or is it just his bad knee telling him to move? He doesn't know, he doesn’t think he cares. 

“Sooo, guess all’a that poetry talk ain’t just for show,” Nico huffs, voice so airy and light, so  _ happy _ , “or’s that silvertongue just extra talented?”

And her compliment twists in his gut, not painfully but...he doesn’t quite know. Being complimented, by her for this is nice, he supposes, better than nice perhaps. He’s not sure, he might have to conduct future research to obtain accurate results. 

For now, Nicoletta stretches, arms over her head, back arching, and V watches her. Her tattoos shift so seamlessly, flowers opening in full across her hip, stars tilting, the words scrawled across her ribs stretch and nearly distort but he can read them. Blake’s words, looping and curling and calling to him. 

He reaches up, mindlessly, to trace them as she sighs and sits up again. One brow quirked as he mouths the words she wrote on herself. 

She doesn’t ask what he’s doing, simply lets him do it. Reaching down to fix errantly falling hairs, to cup his cheek and stroke along his cheekbone with an overwhelming affection. What he wouldn’t give to hold this one moment into eternity, the peace and love of it. He’s never...no one else has ever treated him so softly, given him such raw affections. 

V isn’t sure he’d want this from anyone else. To lay bare the lack of his soul to some stranger and let them judge him on what remained? No, no he could never, but Nicoletta is so different. She has seen him powerful and pitifully weak, she knows what he is and what he could be but only treats him for what he does. She is one of a kind, such a beautiful kind, but not even she can stall time or the pains it brings with it.

“Much as I like this counter, how’s about we move this to the couch?” she offers before he can ask, before he has to. And he wonders what gave him away, if anything. 

“C’mon, up we go,” she coaxes, sliding off the counter and not a flicker of self-consciousness as she does. Not for her lack of dress, not for the sheen of sweat, Nicoletta is beyond such minor shames, and even squats down to help him up more easily.

Her touch is firm on his wrist, steady on his waist as she pulls and gets him standing. Unsteady at first, from the rush of blood and the click of stiff joints, but she holds him there until he takes the one-two steps to the couch. And she lets him drop down first, yanking more pillows out of her netted bags to make the seat more comfortable.

Two pillows behind his back, one beside even hip, there’s even a stuffed duck behind his head so he doesn’t bash it against the window. Then, and only then, does she climb into his lap, knees on the couch, resting her weight on his thighs.

“So, seems to me we ain’t quite finished here, honey, but if we are, all you gotta do is say,” she tells him and kisses his cheek. And that, a kiss on the cheek is what sinks in his stomach like a loadstone, the thing that brings him crashing down into the reality of “ _ Nicoletta desires me _ ”. 

Is that love? No, not quite so deep but desire can spark into it, can influence it, he knows that well enough from all of his reading. And he--this is--

“In what distant deeps or skies, burnt the fire of thine eyes?” he murmurs, lifting her hand to his lips and kissing her ink splattered knuckles.

“On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand, dare seize the fire?” he breathes as he touches her throat, one of the last places left unmarked. He feels her swallow against his palm, the heartbeat loud in her veins, and she is so very alive, and so completely free.

“I think I dare, sweet Tyger,” he whispers, into the still of the van and the quiet between them. Giving in to this, to her, and letting himself  _ want  _ something all his own.

“On crooked wings, with trembling hand, I dare venture further than any man,” and the rhyme is off, because his brain is too slow, and the tune is rough, because his voice is too husky. But she understands, Nicoletta knows what he’s saying, what he can’t find the easy words to ask. 

Yes, yes, he does want this, and her, but saying that is so hard, saying it through someone else is easier. 

Though, as she vests him of the pants he’s barely wearing, he thinks it might be easier to simply praise her. Because she is a beauty deserving of it, of course, so V does. 

“You are exquisite,” he sighs, as her hand strokes the length of him, as she motions for him to hold her hips again.

“Extraordinary,” he gasps as she teases, sliding her warm-wet-soft-sweet pussy against his cock, smearing the same slick and spit he made such a mess of. She smirks, wicked and playful, as he trembles, and isn’t she extraordinary? 

“Beautiful, beautiful, Nicoletta,” he whispers-pants-rambles against her lips as she sinks down onto him. Down-down-down, until she’s moaning into his mouth and clenching around him so sweetly, like nothing he’s ever experienced.

There’s nothing coordinated about the kiss, not as Nico lifts herself and rocks and bounces as she will, setting her own pace and trusting him to match her. Which he does his best to do. Between their sloppy kiss that slides and slips out of place, lips against jaws, teeth bruising throats, and slurred praise besides.

He does rock up into her, matching every other bounce with a vulgar smack that’s sinfully sweet. A noise that is perfectly primal and perfectly alive, and he would think human too except that fucking isn’t anything unique to humanity. Demons fuck, animals fuck, and humans are only animal.

But demons do not love, not each other, and not so easily. Loyalty is won in blood and rage, in shows of power that shake the world. Humans are loyal so easy, in comparison, but just as deep, and twice as fierce. 

Nicoletta, sweet Tyger, who growls as she rides him, fucking him into the creaky couch, is beautifully human. In the stretch of her skin and the sweat dripping down her chest, that he chases after and finds reward in a mewling laugh.

She is human in the flush of her smiling face and the daze of her warm, brown eyes, and the way she bites her lip as he reaches down to stroke her clit. Because he’s close, he was close kneeling between her legs, though he didn’t realise, and he’s painfully there now. But he wants to see her lost over the edge again, gone to pleasure in the sweetest way.

“Gorgeous Tyger,” he breathes, and throws his head back into the pillow as he cums. And the world bursts into colours. And Nicoletta moans so guttural deep and bone shaking sweet.

Once, in his short time alive, he had stood in the crash of a thunderstorm and played to the tune of its rage. Nicoletta riding him to completion, grinding down through it and taking-taking-taking what she needs is almost like that. The awe of it, the heart-stopped in his chest and lightning strike, bottom-drop in his stomach.

The storm, though, had been a flash fire thing, gone by the end of the song, Nicoletta is so much more. She settles on her haunches and pants against his throat, racing heart galloping itself wild. He, for his part, sits there, boneless and panting, soaked with sweat again and maybe in need of another shower. 

As his own heartbeat evens out and he can think to the end of a sentence, he realises the twinkling colours at the corner of his eyes is real. Strings of christmas lights on a set timer, they’re coming alive across the van, soft smears of light and colour to light the dark. V wonders if they count as mood lighting, something to compliment the romance sitting thick around them?

He's not sure but they do look acceptably whimsical. Blue catching on the curve of Nicoletta's smile, purple suspended in the black of her hair. Every colour she could find and cram into the van, and some more besides, plays over her and V decides yes, this does count as mood lighting. It certainly lifts his.

“We should clean up, dear Tyger,” he hums, tracing the outline of a skull on Nicoletta’s shoulder. An ode to gunsmithing and the codes she lived by, noble in their way. 

“Yeah yeah, gimme a second to bask in the afterglow,” she sighs, all lazy cat contentment and vigour. And, not only because he can’t deny her anything, V decides that’s a wonderful use of time.

He’s not even surprised when Nicoletta ferrets out a cigarette from somewhere nearby, somewhere close enough that she doesn’t even have to shift off his lap. He snaps a flame for her before she can fetch out a lighter, winking as she lights off his fingers. 

“Useful,” she laughs, then sighs, and he hums, yes.

There’s an outside they have to take care of, soon probably. Griffon complaining in the distant back of his head, too far to be a real nuisance but not for long probably. And there’s a bounty to collect off the demon herd, and Nero to touch base with. 

They have responsibilities, things to take care of, but, as Nico turns her head to blow smoke away from his face, V thinks they can take a few more minutes to bask in their taskless afterglow.

**Author's Note:**

> A request (comis) from Ariebearz for some prime Nico/V where everybody is satisfied ;)


End file.
